Angels Fall First
by HopelessOsaka
Summary: Riku, Axel, and a handful of daisies once upon some childhood. [Axiku] [AU] [Deathfic]


**Disclaimer:** (Herbal) Osaka-neechan does not own Kingdom Hearts, nor does she own "Angels Fall First", by _Nightwish_.

**Author:** (Herbal) Osaka-neechan

**Focus pairing:** Riku/Axel, Axel/Riku

**Characters:** Axel, Riku

**Content warning:** Angst, death

**Storyline warning:** Axel

**Summary:** Riku, Axel, and daisies.

**Point of view:** Axel

**Perspective:** Third person progressive _(Apparently… does anybody disagree?)_

_The conceptual corner:_ This is drabblesque. Osaka-neechan's Internet became a bitch halfway through using Thesaurus(dot)com… so try not to notice anything. ››;;

She expanded here and there, attempted smoothing down her inane blurbs as usual. This should be readable yet have you, reader, punch your computer screen at the end for the obvious. :D

She may have gotten facts wrong, if there are any in this piece. Do not ask what "grows back." Seriously. -.-;;

The particular song at the end called "Angels Fall First" by _Nightwish_ isn't her favorite, but she adores the lyrics, and fits the piece. The title comes from it, and the chapter title is from another song by them, "Nemo."

_The reception corner:_ Osaka-nee follows her ideas. It may not be her finest, but at least she gets some pieces done and satisfies her happiness, right? .. :D She wanted to write Axiku, and this became after she thought a bit. It came as "Mam." XD She added "Axel," "Irish," "in Japan," and the rest unfolded in a few seconds.

Do **not** ask what "grows back." _Seriously_.

_The crackpot corner:_ This is a **trick**. RUN. ››;;

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**ANGELS FALL FIRST**

Short 

**Once **

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Papa once uttered that Axel would grow up a heartbreaker.

But he'd learn someday, Mam casually said.

Axel chewed a bit of apple-jellied toast, spraying crumbs over the kitchen counter, and Mam beat him over the head with her frying pan. He soon stalked off grumpily to shower off his usual cooking-oil mussed tendrils and a few face welts.

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"_This is for you," Riku proclaimed in rather nice English, thrusting the daisies under his nose._

_They are nine, then. They are nine, because Riku still has big blues for irises that are really greens, but children here don't try distinguishing these colors. Riku is still nine because his locks are cut awkward and just below reddened ears, and there was chocolate smear near full lips. Riku was nine because his face was round and his tummy was fat and really, he was happy when he was nine, but not after_. _Not after that._

_Riku was a pretty little boy. He was glowing and silver despite living by the seaside, and had a warm smile for anybody. He talked, and when he talked, half the time you would come back to his conversation startled._

"_My brother still says _boku_ though he's too old," Riku would complain, "he should say _ore_ cause that's cool!" And somewhere along the way, after twelve minutes, this would become, "—they'll grow back!' That's how they do it in surgery. Isn't that gross and awesome?"_

_Riku had walked on some concrete wall next to stairs at six without a fear, and urged Sora to do it too. When the little brunette boy who had actual big blues fell and bled deeply from his knees, Riku gave him flowers._

_And it was a nice thing, because Riku was a big boy, and big boys aren't supposed to give flowers._

_Riku tried bringing half a dozen mugs he had a habit of leaving round the house to the kitchen at four, and most all shattered against his feet, and his legs and his hands, when he attempted gathering the shards— a dozen more stitches in total. And Riku had run right through a glass door when chasing a butterfly at three, too. _

_Riku was a sweet little boy, if a bit troublesome, because Riku… Riku…_

_Riku— _he smiled.

_Riku is smiling. It is a small, shy smile. Big green-blue eyes like seawater bear a stare all hopeful on Axel, who stands there in silence for awhile. Boys are playing soccer on the field nearby, the fragrance of cut grass overwhelming in the air, shrieks and kicks resounding. Some young girls run by, frocks flouncing as their laughter ring past the boys._

"_I don't like you." Axel finally says, impassive._

_There is awhile then, too. Maybe not that long— Axel ran off in that while towards his friends, later blaming Riku for missing the beginning of the game— but Riku… Riku stands there in those seconds, stone still for the first, before flower stems are slowly crushed, falling to the ground._

_Sometime after that, Riku didn't smile anymore._

And when Riku was twelve, he stayed in a hospital… for a long, long while after.

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Axel has daisies, white vibrant and yellow soft in the middle. Many, many daisies, large and full, bouncing as he walks. Brows knit, he cups a hand gloved black over the petals to distinguish from plaster, and yield from them the ghost fragrance of medicines that hung in these hallways for probable decades.

The woman has opened the door for him. Light floods in, like pieces of broken sea glass disrupting his vision. Axel stands there for a second, before walking wayward.

His hand gloved black is on Riku's own for an instant, then round his nape, then on his breast. Calm.

His hands are calm, but the cold calm. The sort of cold that cannot feel— the sort of calm that touches can break. His hands are methodical, placing daises of white vibrant and yellow soft under nape, on his breast, over arms. He fixates on Riku.

Then, there are tears slipping off bony whitewash cheeks, and Axel stiffens, because _It's Riku! It's Riku! Riku is awake!_ But no, it is Axel. The hand clenches.

Then, Axel is shaking against Riku. Then, he cries. Soft, soft cries that burn the skin creased at the edge of each eye, that swells the inside of his throat, that starves his stomach— and while he starves and burns in soft, soft cries, Axel sees silver.

And Riku is dead. So what does it matter?

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_An angelface smiles to me_

_under a headline of tragedy_

_That smile used to give me warmth_

_Farewell— no words to say_

_beside the cross on your grave_

_and those forever burning candles_

_Needed elsewhere_

_to remind us of the shortness of our time_

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**END**


End file.
